


You never said goodbye

by GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver



Series: Sherlolly (if you squint) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hurt, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver/pseuds/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tried to clear the thought from her head by busying herself with her work. Mr. Famer was thirty seven years. Relatively young, though premature silver hairs outnumbering the few black ones on his head. That being said, there was a massive bold patch, so there weren't many hairs anyway.  Did she even matter to him at all? She knew that Sherlock certainly wasn't one for sentiment or friendship, really... but still.  Molly Hooper, FOCUS! Morbidly obese. It was probably all the fat that was clogging his arteries that did it... though he didn't have a stroke or a heart attack. His heart just stopped beating. Although he had abnormally high... what was it? Calcium or potassium or magnesium ions? Was he poisoned or did he just eat too much or was it that it was too low?  </p><p>Groaning frustrated, she abandoned the body in front of her. She could not think clearly about her work at all because each thought was tainted with her feelings towards Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes never did care about her; just used her as a tactical advantage, so why, why, why, did she feel so dejected that she bloody get on with her work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You never said goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a whole ago and never got around to posting. 
> 
> Enjoy.

_He_ _didn't even say bye_ _._ It had been playing on her mind for several days.  

Okay, yes, Sherlock Holmes was back in 22 Baker street _now_. No doubt, he was sat on the floor, crossed legs, eyes closed and hands drawn together. He was probably contemplating a strategy to deal with the return of Moriarty.  Or maybe roaming his mind palace, gathering anything that he had learnt over the years about Jim. Though, he was probably devoid of John's company – not that he'd notice anyway until Mrs Hudson, bringing her daily cup of tea, pointed out that John was somewhere with Mary.  

Yes, things were fine now.  He was back.  However, a couple days ago, the man in question was faced with the uncertainty of going away forever and leaving the comforts of London behind. He had no idea that events would play out in his favour and that he'd be back. As far as he knew, he was never going to see her again.  Yet, he didn't even call her. He didn't even bother to say good bye to her. She'd have to hear everything about Magnussen and his departure second hand from John Watson. She let out a harsh laugh, that was unlike her usual light and airy one. She thought that he could trust her; that she counted – though obviously, she was wrong.  

She tried to clear the thought from her head by busying herself with her work. _Mr_ _._ _Famer was_ _thirty seven_ _years_ _. Relatively young, though premature silver hairs outnumbering the few black ones on his head. That being said_ _, there was a massive bold patch, so_ _there weren't many hairs anyway._ Did she even matter to him at all? She knew that Sherlock certainly wasn't one for sentiment or friendship, really... but still.  Molly Hooper, FOCUS! _M_ _orbidly obese. It was probably all the fat that was clogging his arteries t_ _hat did it... though he didn't have a stroke or a heart attack. His heart just stopped beating._ _A_ _lthough he had abnormally high... what was it? Calcium or_ _pot_ _assium_ _or magnesium ions? Was he poisoned or did he just eat too much or was it that it was too low?_  

Groaning frustrated, she abandoned the body in front of her. She could not think clearly about her work at all because each thought was tainted with her feelings towards Sherlock. She gripped the lab table and breathed heavily in an attempt not to cry. She had been holding back for days now. Though, what kept the tears from falling was that a harsh voice snarled _why should_ _you_ _cry and actually care when he obviously didn't?_ Sherlock Holmes never did care about her; just used her as a tactical advantage, so why, why, why, did she feel so dejected that she bloody get on with her work?  

She pulled of her thin blue gloves and threw them in the waste bin, concluding that she needed a little bit of air before she continued.  

"It is high magnesium. Mr. Farmer was a binge eater and it was chronic. In an attempt to gain control, he took laxatives – and lots of them. Heart stopped beating."  

Her heart almost stopped beating in the shock. Molly froze instantly uncertain. Was he a figment of her imagination? Was she that obsessed and sad?  

She turned around hesitantly to see him, in flesh, standing in front of her. She took a minute to avidly drink him in. After all, these days, she couldn't be sure whether he'd be arrested or sent to another country for killing someone. She couldn't be sure if this was the last time she'd ever see him again. On his face, was a smug grin. Perhaps he was satisfied in the way that he had surprised her? Or maybe he was indulging in the fact that he was smarter than her. She didn’t know. After all, Sherlock was the one who made deductions – not her. His hair was jet black and curly as she remembered it. He wore his tall black coat and she could see his smart shoes sneaking out from underneath.  

When she wouldn't talk, he advanced towards her and looked over Mr. Farmer's body with feigned interest. His pale green eyes piercing hers. "His nails. There is crumbs between them suggesting that instead of using cutlery, he used his fingers. Eager to stuff it all down. The amount of crumbs suggests that it is a habitual. Think about it Molly. He must have washed his hands at times and some of the crumbs would have washed out of his nails. However, he must have ate so frequently and so much for the crumbs to accumulate that much. As for the magnesium-"  

"Sherlock, I didn't ask," Molly eventually said, interrupting him.  

"Molly," he finally said stopping in front of her. His eyes were slightly dilated as if noticing that she was there. He stared at her intently for a few seconds and then frowned a little. "Still no engagement ring so you have not made up with Tom? Hmmm... You're eyes are darker than they usually are, so something is bothering you. Your posture is a bit slouched, which is quite unusual for you  so whatever is bothering you must be very important... no... very persistent. You're angry. Yes, angry. Not at Tom. No, you are a little relieved it ended because you didn’t love him. He was a distraction... You snapped at me whilst I was deducing. Not your usual awkward self. You are angry at me. Why?"  

"Oh, how about you deduce that to?" She asked refusing to look at him. She did not want him to see from her eyes that he was spot on.  

"I don't know why you'd be angry at me... Ah, it's the drugs and then nearly dying thing. Look, that was all for a case,"  

"No Sherlock, you left and didn't even say bye," she said wobbly, glaring at him.  

She knew that Sherlock was really resistant when it came to emotions, but always liked to believe that deep inside, he was flooded with emotions. However, as she stared at him, she found herself reconsidering. In his eyes, she saw that the indifferences that normally shrouded his eyes was more pronounced.  

"I need a foot and a heart and a pair of lungs please." He said, clinically. 

"I thought that I mattered to you, Sherlock Holmes. That you could trust me," 

"Oh and an arm,"  

She laughed at his blatant avoidance of her feelings. Though, it was a rather hollow voice. Fine, she'd play his game because discussing how she felt with Sherlock was like hurling things at a wall. 

"Shouldn't you be planning a way to defend the country from Jim Moriarty?" She asked, actually managing to keep her voice even.  

"How do you know I am not?"  

"You're here... I read... I read the article about you and Janine and the Magnussen case,"  

Instantly, his face sharpened – his jaw lines more defined. He could cut glass.  

"What happened?" She asked nervously when he wouldn’t speak.  

"Just stuff. I'm not a hero or a fairy tale prince, or whatever you have me out to be in your head. I am a high functioning sociopath. I killed Magnussen because he knew stuff he shouldn’t about people who shouldn’t have. I used Janine for a case. She got angry. That article happened."  

"What do you mean, used for a case? What case? And who did he know stuff about?" Molly asked, intrigued but still perplexed.  

Sherlock huffed irritably. His lips were pursed and his green eyes pierced hers. "Molly Hooper, please drop the subject,"  

On a normal day, she would have mumbled an apology and they would have coexisted in her lab in a sterile silence. Comforting for Sherlock, but awkward for her. However, she was already angry at the fact that Sherlock left without saying bye. Then waltzed into her office as if nothing had happened, asking her for body parts. Why did he always have to treat her with no regards for her feelings? Like an object, rather than a person?  

"Okay, fine, you don't trust me. Whatever, that is fine. I try to be there whenever you need me and you can't even confined in me or say bye,"  

He groaned frustrated. "This again! You know I am not one for sentiment. You know that very well. So don't think that you can make me feel guilty for me not being someone I am not. And Molly Hooper, of course I trust you. If you took a moment to stop being all insecure, you'd see that!"  

Fed up and annoyed, she turned to him with a fake bright smile fixed to her face. "Please... please can you... can you just go?" 

"Why?" Sherlock asked.  

"You don't see me. You just see an object to be manipulated. You never regard my feelings and whenever you seem to, it is just a you trying to get another favour. I am fed up of that!" Molly was screaming – her face was a raw pink colour and words that she wasn't even conciously thinking about were falling out of her mouth uncontrollably.  

"Look, you know very well that I am an insensitive arsehole. In fact, I think that it is an universal fact. I pretended that I was dead for two years to John. Let him grief. I watched him at my gravestone. He asked for one last miracle. For me to stop being dead and I still kept my distance. As a friend of mine, you should be well aware that I am not like normal people. That I didn’t say good bye, shouldn’t surprise you Molly Hooper," 

"A friend?" Molly asked, feeling a little bit lighter. 

"I don’t understand why that hurt you a lot and I do not feel obliged to apologize or make up for something that I see no wrong in doing. However, you have helped me a lot during the years and I do appreciate it. Though I may not express that well. I guess... if you want, we can go out for coffee? if you'll accept this gesture as appreciation."  

"We are friends? You've never called me a friend before," She replied smiling.  

"Yes, I suppose," he replied, in his cool voice.  

Molly beamed and he frowned at her a little. "Coffee, that sounds great. You know, Sherlock Holmes, you've never offered to take me out for coffee before,"  

"We were going to go out for chips but you declined that offer," Sherlock reminded her. "And Molly, you do count. You are intelligent and punctual. You are always here when I need you. You hardly take the holidays you are entitled to so the lab is always available "  

Molly Hooper could not help but beam for the rest of that week. She was going on a coffee date (well not a date, but she could dream) with Sherlock. To add onto that, he called her intelligent. Coming from him, that was an honour. She even found herself thinking that perhaps him not saying bye in the first place was a blessing in disguise. 


End file.
